The Fallen Eagles

by Geoffrey Davison

  Leeburg turned to her and saw her anxious look.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  But his mother turned her head away from him. ‘Nothing,’ she said quietly.

  Leeburg frowned. God! Was everybody going mad? The whole household was filled with an air of depression and misery. There was something worrying his mother, but she wouldn’t say what, and he didn’t want to ask in case it was to do with the police. That was something he had to keep to himself. He had to.

  Wearily he went to his room. The pleasure he had felt talking with Heckmeir had gone. Now he felt deeply depressed.

  When he opened the door to his room, he saw Karl straight away. How long had he been there waiting for him? he wondered, and sensed the antagonism his brother felt towards him. His eyes were ablaze with anger and he stood staring at Leeburg, breathing heavily.

  Frieda! Leeburg thought sadly. They were back to her again.

  Even before Leeburg had closed the door behind him, Karl had shuffled over to Leeburg and pulled his shoulder round to face him.

  ‘If you ever lay a hand on Frieda again, I’ll kill you,’ Karl hissed.

  At the same instant his fist crashed into Leeburg’s face sending him reeling against the wall. The unexpectedness took Leeburg by surprise. For a second he lay against the wall, absorbing the full realization of what had taken place. Slowly a feeling of resentment swelled inside of him. It added to the other feelings he had been suppressing and spilled over in a burst of fury. He lunged at his brother and grabbed him by the shirt. ‘You blind fool!’ he yelled. ‘You bloody idiot!’

  He flung him across the room. Karl hit the bed and fell to the floor. Leeburg stood breathing heavily. He had never before lain a finger on his brother. Now he wanted to beat him into the ground. His fury was balanced on a hair’s breadth, but the sight of his brother having to struggle to stand on his feet tipped the scales.

  ‘Get out,’ he snapped. ‘Get out, and keep your wife out of my hair.’

  He pushed him to the door. Karl didn’t look back, but Leeburg knew the hatred was still there in his brother’s eyes. When he was alone again, Leeburg stood staring out of the window. His world was collapsing around him. He had come home hoping to find protection within his family. Now he was his brother’s enemy!

  His eyes fell on the silhouetted outline of the church. It held his attention. He liked looking at it, he always had. He wondered why? Was it because it stood erect and white? Or was it because it was the symbol of something which appealed to him?

  There had also been a church in Savana, he thought, and that had also appealed to him. So, in fact, had the small, Italian town. There had been a beauty about the place that had cushioned the feeling of uncertainty. He could have had pleasant memories about Italy, he thought, if it hadn’t been for the war and Reitzer. He gave a deep sigh. That remark was almost becoming the story of his life.

  CHAPTER 6

  Leeburg had been surprised to find the journey through Italy deeply interesting. He had travelled through the Alps, over the Po Valley and into the heart of the rolling mountains of the Apennines.

  War had seemed remote and unrealistic amongst the purple coloured countryside with its grapevines, orchards, and knee high valleys of maize. The sweltering hot sun had dazzled the eye with its reflection from the ochre coloured buildings which pin-pointed the countryside.

  Only the purpose of his journey reminded him that he was not in Italy to admire the architecture or scenic beauty, but to help stem the advance of the Allied troops. Not that anyone genuinely believed they could be stopped. Most clear thinking people had long since come to expect the worst despite the propaganda stories of invincible machines which were being produced by their scientists. Leeburg kept his own counsel, as did most wise men.

  The S.S. and Gestapo were always at hand to make an example out of any straying sheep. But the men who travelled with Leeburg knew what their fate was to be. The Alps were to be the last bastion of defence. They were being sent to an army which was being steadily pushed back to their last fortress where they would fight to the death. It was the same on all fronts and at least, Leeburg thought, he was to join a Mountain Division and fight on equal terms. But when Leeburg reached Perugia, he found this was not to be. His posting had been changed. He was sent to Savana as a replacement to 134 Infantry Regiment. His disappointment at the news was only tempered by the fact that his new regiment was at present in reserve.

  In the cobbled square of Savana, he stood under the blazing sun, resigned to his fate, and studied the fresco on the church wall as an officer consulted his papers with a Sergeant Major.

  Leeburg liked the small Italian town with its chipped, colour washed walls, and arched boulevard. It had its own personality. And the church, with its heavy wooden doors open to display its dark coolness, looked inviting. But in the distance came the muffled sound from a battery of guns.

  Leeburg turned his attention to the opening in the corner of the square. Through it he could see a mass of green and purple of the wooded slopes on the far side of the valley. He had never seen such colouring before. The whole region was an artist’s dream, he thought. It was a shame that the war could not have passed it by. But war was no respecter of beauty or persons and they had already been warned about the bands of guerrillas and partisans who hid in the woods.

  The Lieutenant turned to address the thirty or so men lined up in front of him. He was a youthful looking man, but with the air of a seasoned campaigner. ‘You have been sent to join the 12th Army,’ he said in a clipped military accent, ‘to replace men who have been killed or wounded fighting fearlessly and bravely.’

  He paused and looked up and down the column of men. They looked back at him, defiantly. All but a handful had seen previous action. They had little regard for any claptrap.

  The Lieutenant sensed the feeling and dispensed with any further propaganda. ‘The regiment which you are to become a part of is at present in reserve. The companies are on the forward slope of this hill. The front is about ten kilometres to the south. Facing us is the American 5th Corps. They also fight hard. Good luck.’

  He handed his sheaf of papers to the Sergeant Major who read out the postings. Leeburg was to go to No. 2 Battalion, dug in about two kilometres to the west of the town.

  When the Sergeant Major had finished, the men fell out to reform in their various groups.

  A slim, lanky Corporal, Corporal Garner, came up to Leeburg. ‘No. 2 Battalion,’ he smiled. ‘I’ll get the rest.’

  Leeburg was pleased they were to join the same unit. They had travelled together from Munich. Corporal Garner was also an Austrian, from the Tyrol, and had served on the Eastern front until he had been wounded from a shell burst.

  There was a total of eight men for No. 2 Battalion. Most of them were elderly men, but one, Private Siegel, was a youth of about seventeen. Silently they picked up their gear and Leeburg led them out of the square. As they entered the narrow lane leading to the slopes, a staff car came towards them. The men quickly made room for it to pass. Inside the vehicle was a driver and two officers. One of the officers wore the uniform of the S.S. He would be the N.S.P.O., Leeburg thought, the political officer. He glanced at the other officer and felt the blood drain from his body. It was Erich Reitzer! He was sitting proud and erect, looking straight to his front. Leeburg watched the car enter the square. It was almost like seeing a ghost. Erich Reitzer! He was something of the past! He belonged to another era! Leeburg had never really expected to cross his path again.

  The men continued on their way. Leeburg followed them with a heavy heart. Erich Reitzer was now Major Reitzer. He had heard of Reitzer’s promotion from his mother. He had also heard that Reitzer had been decorated for bravery, but he had put him out of his thoughts. He tried to do the same again. It was unlikely they would come into contact. They might be in the same division, even the same regiment, but not the same battalion.

  When Leeburg reported to No. 2 Battalion Command Post h
e learned differently. Reitzer was to become very much a part of his life. He was his new Battalion Commander!

  Leeburg, Corporal Garner and the youthful Siegel were all sent to No. 2 Company. The company commander was Lieutenant Merkel, a veteran campaigner who had worked his way up from the ranks. He was a conscientious, fair-minded officer, who knew what he was doing. So was the company sergeant, a small, tough, former miner from Dresden.

  The number and quality of the replacements was not what the Lieutenant had requested or anticipated. There were several gaps in their ranks and the inexperienced young Siegel was not what was needed. Nor apparently was Leeburg. His battle experience had been four years previous and his mountain skiing and climbing ability made little impression. Only Corporal Garner seemed to fit the bill.

  Having given vent to their disappointment the matter was forgotten and the three men set about becoming part of the life of an infantry platoon. For Leeburg the physical discomfiture was no hardship. He had lived and slept out of doors for long periods in the mountains. In the warm, sun drenched valley, with its scented atmosphere, he enjoyed the physical exercise and the company of men like Corporal Garner who, although young in years, had the knowledge of an old campaigner.

  But Leeburg had not forgotten about Reitzer. Although he had not seen him again, he knew they would soon come face to face. When they had parted there had been a deep division between them. A feeling of contempt for each other’s attitudes and thoughts had ended their friendship.

  Leeburg had not changed his feelings; he wondered if the war had changed those of his former friend. He got a clue to the answer from Corporal Garner. He had heard that Major Reitzer was a martinet. A ruthless, efficient officer, who was hated, but respected by the men. A man who would have them all killed rather than give ground. And Lieutenant Schroeder, the political officer, was his equal. The two together seemed to epitomize the attitude of the High Command and Fascist Party which kept them fighting a hopeless battle. There was a general feeling of resignation abroad. That there was no alternative but to fight, and fight, or be killed.

  So Reitzer had not changed, Leeburg thought. If anything he had become stronger in his deeds and thought. And so also had Leeburg. He had hated war from the very beginning. He hated it even more, there in the beautiful valley in the foothills of the Apennines.

  For the remainder of the week the company prepared its lines of communications. The unit had been at the front for several weeks, since Cassino. This was their first rest and they lived each day as it came, knowing that time was running out.

  It was on the day that the news came of their return to the front that Leeburg and Reitzer came face to face. Leeburg had seen him twice before in the distance, but on this occasion he was standing talking to Lieutenant Merkel and Lieutenant Schroeder of the S.S., only a short distance away from where Leeburg was working with his men. Leeburg kept his eyes away from Reitzer, but he felt his former friend watching him. Suddenly Lieutenant Merkel called his name. Leeburg braced himself and went over to where the three officers were standing. Still without looking at Reitzer, he saluted Lieutenant Merkel and stood stiffly to attention.

  ‘Major Reitzer would like to speak with you, Sergeant,’ the Lieutenant said.

  Leeburg turned to Reitzer and saluted. Reitzer acknowledged the salute in an offhand manner and the two men looked into each other’s face.

  Leeburg matched Reitzer in height, but Reitzer was of broader build. He had a typical Prussian military look about him, Leeburg thought. Even the way he stood, with his hands clasped behind his back and his chin slightly uplifted so that his eyes looked down to Leeburg, was of the right military stance.

  For a second the two men weighed each other up. There was nothing soft or gentle in Reitzer’s face. He had the look of battle all over him. An air of impatience and alertness.

  Standing slightly behind Reitzer was Lieutenant Schroeder. Schroeder was smaller than the two men, and slimmer. His features had none of Reitzer’s aristocratic looks about them, but his eyes had the same keenness and sharpness. If anything, Leeburg thought, Schroeder had the more cruel face of the two. A lean, mean looking face with a thin mouth. He saw Schroeder’s eyes flashing from Reitzer to Leeburg and his lips twist into a mocking smile as if he was enjoying the situation.

  ‘Sergeant Leeburg,’ Reitzer said quietly. ‘It has been a long time.’

  ‘Yes, Herr Major,’ Leeburg replied stiffly.

  ‘I have read your record,’ Reitzer said. ‘You have had a good war.’

  ‘I have served wherever I have been sent,’ Leeburg replied.

  Reitzer looked straight at him. What was he thinking of? Leeburg wondered. Of their last patrol through the woods? Of Hertz? Or of their youthful expeditions into the mountains?

  Lieutenant Schroeder stepped forward. ‘You know this Sergeant, Major Reitzer?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Reitzer replied, his eyes still fixed on Leeburg. ‘We come from the same district. In fact we grew up together, and even served together in 1939 and 1940.’

  ‘In that case we have been fortunate to acquire the services of another fearless warrior.’ Schroeder said cynically. He withdrew a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and swished a fly off his face. He had become bored with the situation.

  A faint smile appeared on Reitzer’s lips. It was a mocking, challenging smile. Leeburg had seen it before when they had been in competition with each other. Then Reitzer had been out to try and show his superior skill. What did it mean now? Leeburg wondered. What was Reitzer thinking?

  ‘We shall see, Lieutenant,’ Reitzer said quietly still looking at Leeburg. ‘We shall see. Carry on Sergeant.’

  Leeburg saluted and returned to his section. He knew Reitzer was going to take a very personal interest in his welfare and actions. To see whether he measured up to Reitzer’s standards.

  Corporal Garner sidled up to him. ‘A friend of yours?’ he whispered.

  ‘He was once,’ Leeburg said sadly, ‘but not anymore.’

  ‘Pity,’ Garner mumbled. ‘I wouldn’t like him for an enemy.’

  Enemy! Was Reitzer his enemy? Leeburg wondered. He looked back to where the three officers were still standing and saw Reitzer looking at him. He felt a cold shiver pass through his body.

  That night they moved out of their positions and travelled in the darkness towards the front. The men sat silently in their troop carriers each to his own thoughts. Soon they would be in the thick of the battle again. A battle they knew they couldn’t win, but for which many would die. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

  Shortly before dawn they leaguered in a wood. They didn’t have to be told that the enemy was only a few kilometres in front of them. There was a tenseness in the air that told them, and every order and movement was made with the urgency that is brought upon by the feeling of an impending danger.

  As dawn broke they saw that they were not alone. Close to the open tracks were the camouflaged tanks, and anti-tank gun positions were being dug in at vantage points. It was not ideal territory for tank warfare, but it was good ground for the infantry.

  During the day the men rested and waited. To the right of their position an artillery battery kept up a duel with an enemy battery. Occasionally a stray shell fell wide of its mark and close to their positions. Not close enough to cause any casualties, but close enough to jar the nerves of the uninitiated.

  In the afternoon Lieutenant Merkel came back from his ‘O’ group with Reitzer and gave them their orders. Below them was a broad, well-cultivated valley. On the far side of the valley another regiment was holding back the enemy infantry. Their regiment was to take up positions in the valley close to the edge of the wood, during the night, and let the others pull back through their lines.

  At the head of the valley, to their left flank, was a small, deserted village. Their battalion had to dig in about a thousand metres in front of the village on the edge of a stream. No. 2 company to be the forward company. Lieutenant Merkel showed them
their positions on the map and allocated the ground for each of their sections. Leeburg’s section was at the very pinnacle — at the front of all their defence line!

  As Leeburg listened to the briefing, he felt a wave of fear. He was to be blooded into battle again at the most vulnerable position. Was this accidental or was it Reitzer’s doing? He would never know, but he had a shrewd idea. And so had Corporal Garner.

  ‘I’m beginning to think you are not my lucky charm, Sergeant,’ he said to Leeburg with a wry smile after their briefing.

  ‘Wait until tomorrow is over and you might have changed your views,’ Leeburg retorted with forced lightness.

  ‘If we survive tomorrow, I will never leave your side. I promise you.’

  They returned to their hastily prepared slit trenches and tried to catch up on their sleep. But sleep or inactivity didn’t come easy. As the early dusk crept over the countryside they moved forward.

  They passed quickly through the woods and into the open valley. A quarter moon gave sufficient light for them to see their way. Hurriedly they picked their way through the vineyards and across the fields of maize towards the dark shapes of the small village. They rested in the courtyard of a farmhouse whilst Lieutenant Merkel took a reconnaissance party forward to locate their positions. The farmhouse was deserted, the windows shuttered and the door bolted. The occupants had fled to the hills with their cattle and belongings.

  Another company passed through to take up their positions on the left flank. Presently, Lieutenant Merkel returned and led them through the village, past a small chapel and on to a rough metal track which led into the heart of the valley. They soon came to the ground they were to defend. It was at the side of the track, but Leeburg’s section was slightly forward in soft ground at the edge of a small stream. Immediately they set about digging in their positions. They dug furiously, the perspiration rolling down their faces.

  With Leeburg was Private Luker, a Berliner and former waiter at the Ambassador Hotel. But he was now a seasoned campaigner and had been with the company since Cassino. He had long since developed the art of digging. The ground was soft and digging was easy, but the deeper they dug, the more the water seeped into their hole. It made the bottom of their trench a sea of mud. Leeburg sent Luker back to collect some maize to absorb the moisture. When he later crept around the other members of his section he found they had done the same.